There are so many (ok, like three) things that I want to write about, but since I’ve been incredibly fatigued because of the reintroduction of Topamax into my drug regime, I haven’t had the energy or volition to compose a blog entry in much too long and have thus fallen behind. Instead of collapsing under the pressure and writing nothing at all, as is very tempting, I’ll start with the basics.
On Monday, after three and a half weeks, I was finally discharged from the hospital. I woke up bright and early, went back to sleep for a few hours—going back on Topamax has made me hella fatigued—ate my last institutional for what I hope will be a long while (delicious watery Cream of Wheat and yogurt), and, best of all, went to have my electrodes taken off, a process that involved large amounts of glue remover, lots of scrubbing, and the best shower of my life.
The morning of my release from epilepsy-monitoring purgatory coincided with the morning of my husband’s citizenship ceremony—more about that in a later post, but for now: welcome, new Canuck!—so he couldn’t pick me up. A dear friend came to get me instead. I’m pretty sure I hugged him inappropriately tightly when he arrived (sorry, P), but I have never been so glad to see a friend/saviour in all my time on this earth. Almost a month of forced bed rest makes the prospect of freedom like a sweet, sweet dream and the person taking you away from the hospital akin to your liberator. But I digress.
An hour before my departure, my epileptologist dropped by to touch base with me. I was informed that he’ll meet with the other members of my epilepsy team in the next month or two to discuss my case and that he should have more definitive answers as to my eligibility for surgery at my follow-up appointment, which is currently scheduled for early March. I’m both hopeful and nervous. A little scared, too. Mostly, I’m trying to push it out of my mind; it’s far enough in the future that it seems like there’s no point dwelling on it right now. I can’t change what’s going to happen, and I don’t have to deal with it at the moment.
Ironically, I’ve had three (partial) seizures since I got home. Nothing like the very violent seizure that I had as an inpatient, but still: it would’ve been nice to have captured these while hooked up to the EEG waiting for some abnormal electrical activity in my brain. It’s perhaps unsurprising that my neurons have decided to throw multiple parties since I’ve settled into my apartment. Even if I’m back on my meds, I’m also back to my regular exercise levels, which are relatively high, whereas in the hospital I was more or less sedentary. I’m now pretty sure that physical exhaustion is a trigger for me. I’ll have to figure out about balancing fitness with neurological health.
I have to figure out about achieving balance in general, too. Despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to jump back into things like I wanted to. In fact, over the past week, I’ve literally fallen asleep on the subway, in the library, and while standing in line at the grocery store, unwilling to admit to myself that I should rest rather than go about my life as normal while my brain adapts to my anticonvulsants. These incidents have forced me to pull back a little, but probably not enough. I’m working on it.
However, there’s lots to be happy about. We’re leaving for Christmas in nine days, before which I’ll submit a complete draft of my thesis to my committee. The course I’m teaching is going really well—my students embarrassed me by applauding when I returned to class last Wednesday night after three weeks away (they’re seriously the sweetest). It’s the time of year at which it’s socially acceptable to deck your living space in ridiculous seasonal doodads of various descriptions. I have a Kinder advent calendar, so I can anticipate indulging in chocolatey goodness every single morning.
Things are looking up, my friends.